


Welcome to my homecoming

by Roxie Ann (pluvial_poetry)



Series: everything nice [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, mildly sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:18:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1676150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluvial_poetry/pseuds/Roxie%20Ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's one of those things that sounds like a great idea when you're three weeks into a job in Andorra, sleep deprived and sex drunk, but makes a hell of a lot less sense when you're actually standing in a room holding your sometime lover's baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to my homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> The series goes in posting/reading order. Chronologically though, this one would take place first. In case it matters. They do stand alone, so we probably don't need to worry about it.

“Fuck,” Arthur says. It's an understatement.

Arthur had been under no obligation to take this meeting, Eames had made that clear enough. And despite, _everything_ , Eames can usually be counted on to mean what he says. Arthur could leave, right now, and Eames would get over it. They would probably never even talk about it again, it could just one of those things that sounds like a great idea when you're three weeks into a job in Andorra, sleep deprived and sex drunk, but makes a hell of a lot less sense when you're actually standing in a room holding your sometime lover's baby.

“As I told you two months ago, Lovisa, I'll be out of town on the 23rd. We agreed that you would have Caroline that week and --” Eames' voice drops out as he moves around the apartment. Arthur doesn't bother with eavesdropping, he stays well out of Eames' relationship drama since that time Chege pulled a knife on him midway through the prep phase on an extraction in Belgrade. He can't help watching Eames though, cataloging the slump of his posture, the pinched set of his forehead; he's picked up that same empty baby bottle three times now, only to set it right back down again in the same spot, offering Arthur a wan smile and a wink when he catches Arthur's gaze on him.

The baby snuffles quietly in her sleep, Arthur's attention automatically drawing back down, patting her bottom softly and settling her against his chest, her tiny body heavier and warmer than Arthur would have expected. There's still that new baby blandness about her features, Arthur notes, peering down at her face; as far as he can tell, she's virtually indistinguishable from every other baby in the world. Except that she's so obviously Eames'. The blonde swoop of hair over her forehead, and the bow of her mouth as it works around in a lazy smacking motion. Eames is someone's father, a fact that Arthur knew, but is suddenly a lot more real with the proof of that curved into the crook of his arm. 

“As it turns out, getting someone up the duff out of wedlock was not the carefree venture I was lead to believe,” Eames says, eventually reappearing at Arthur's side, and who knows how long Arthur has been standing here, just staring at the baby, this miniature person that Eames somehow created, with her tiny eyelashes and fingernails, Christ. 

“I'm not sure it counts as being out of wedlock when the ink on the divorce papers isn't dry,” Arthur says, considering Eames as he absentmindedly rocks side to side at the fussy noise the baby makes at the sound of their voices. Eames is a mess, rumpled and unshaven, not in his usual studied way, like performance art he's designed to put people off their guard. More like he hasn't looked at himself in the mirror in days and has no idea how fucking awful he looks, stains on his shirt and dark circles under his eyes.

Eames' mouth quirks as he sets his hand under Arthur's elbow. “I've missed your smug condescension most of all,” Eames tells him, closing in to press his mouth against Arthur's neck, a sensation Arthur leans into despite the the roughness of Eames' new facial hair.

“What's with the beard?” Arthur asks, shifting the baby slightly to accommodate Eames. Considering the rest of Eames' body hair the beard is surprisingly red and it frames the softness of his mouth in a way that puts Arthur in mind of one thing. “You look like you're filming the next installment of Backwoods Bears.”

Eames makes an agreeable noise against the side of Arthur's throat. “Ahh, yes, the script practically writes itself. Perhaps I've been lonely for a long time, hmm? Come to find a nubile young man trespassing on my property.” 

Arthur raises a dubious eyebrow, an act that is lost on Eames, who seems to be burrowing in for the long haul, his head on Arthur's shoulder, a hand sliding low on Arthur's back to grope at his ass. “Seriously? While I'm holding your baby?”

“Said as though that wasn't an enticement in and of itself,” Eames chuckles, wicked and warm against Arthur's ear, more like himself than he has been this entire time, before righting himself with a spine cracking stretch. “Right. I had hoped she'd be awake for this bit but she insists on keeping her own schedule.” He waves a hand over the baby, and says, “Caroline, Arthur. Arthur, Caroline.” 

The baby heaves a little sigh at the sound of her name. Or maybe it's because of how tightly Arthur has her caught up in his arms, how stiff his back has gotten. He doesn't know how to hold a baby, had never really expected to be in a position where he would have to know how. “I feel like I'm doing this wrong,” he admits with a frown.

“I've resigned myself to being terrible at this,” Eames says easily. “As long as all her little limbs are still attached at days end, I'll take that as a win.”

Arthur snorts, unimpressed, as Eames finally reaches over to take the baby back. 

“Ahh, there she is,” Eames says, stepping back and raising her up so that Arthur can see; her eyes are open.

They're blue of course, just like Eames'. And Eames is standing there, beaming at the two of them, that same look that he gets on a job when he knows that he's pulled off something brilliant and impossible, as he nuzzles and sniffs at the side of Caroline's face. Arthur clears his throat before he can whisper to her, “Hey, hi.”

“Someone needs a bath,” Eames announces, grimacing dramatically for Caroline, already unfastening the tiny snaps on her little outfit, dodging her chubby fists as she waves them in the air. Eames turns and offers Arthur another smile, soft and slow. “Good that you're here, this is really a two person job.”

Arthur takes in the mess of Eames' apartment, the sad state of his wardrobe and appearance. He looks at Caroline too, meeting her wide blue eyes, and true, he doesn't really know what he's doing, but he does know that leaving isn't really an option now. If it ever was. “Yeah,” Arthur says finally, rolling up his sleeves with a little grin. “I can see that.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://pluvial-poetry.tumblr.com/)


End file.
